


Post-It Notes

by elena_stidham



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Kinda, Light Angst, Light for me anyway, M/M, Post-it Notes, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19076203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena_stidham/pseuds/elena_stidham
Summary: Eiji buys a pack of post it notes and proceeds to leave notes all over the apartment for Ash.





	Post-It Notes

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS FOR: Language, references to PTSD
> 
> SONGS USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Nothing in particular. I just went to my Spotify and clicked shuffle and skipped if I had to
> 
> I made a tweet a while back about this as just a simple headcanon, and I just….wanted to write a whole fic about it. Sue me. Yes, there’s a scene in here inspired by Dawn’s art. Sue me again. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/nakimooshi/status/1134120115891400704?s=20
> 
> https://twitter.com/nakimooshi/status/1126609685711208448?s=20
> 
> I’m in Japan now, and I wrote all of this during my plane ride there, which explains why it’s so short. I apologise for that. Regardless, I hope you like this! This is just a conglomeration of much smaller headcanons that I have that wouldn’t work in fics like Ladder Song and Swinging Party. 
> 
> My twitter and tumblr is elenastidham. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -Elena

**_Good morning! It’s gonna get better!_ **

Ash peels the yellow post-it note off the bathroom mirror. Eiji’s handwriting had evolved some since Ash had taught him cursive, yet not by much. It’s still that same font that holds a spectacular touch, it’s still so uniquely his, like a fingerprint. No, a voice.

Ash glances in the mirror, his heart nearly transparent through his shell of a body. His eyes are swollen red, puffed out, tucked above skin that seems to resemble silk from a flower. It’s only morning. Eiji’s not gone forever.

It’s his day off from work, and on this night he wanted to do something he had talked about for a while now. Something he was never allowed to do – at least, one he wasn’t allowed to do in New York.

Dino’s prostitutes, you see, had to be in perfectly mint condition. Any bite or scratch on them made them worthless, much less a tattoo. Ash’s body had to be perfectly smooth and clear, and he was held to even stricter regulations than the others because he belonged to Dino himself. He had to be perfect, and he couldn’t even think of trying to deem himself worthless at all. They were checked, and if they were less than pristine, they’d be recycled into the lowest of the low until they learned.

Aslan Callenreese and Ash Lynx are both quick learners.

Ash finds himself this afternoon in a tattoo parlour, his shirt on the ground and his back exposed to needles. He had remembered hearing about tattoos being a taboo in Japan, similar to how it was in Club Cod. He didn’t care much for taboo anymore, but he did care about Eiji, who might have held this taboo to belief.

It took about a week to work up the courage to ask about it, and as soon as he did he remembered just how silly he was feeling from even needing courage for such a thing at all.

“If you want a tattoo, get one,” Eiji had shrugged. “I’m not gonna look at you any different.”

“You sure?” Ash asked.

Eiji nodded. “I promise.”

As he lies on the table, he wonders if Eiji ever wanted a tattoo. He wonders what kind of tattoo Eiji would get. Perhaps a branch of flowers, across the blade of his shoulder. If not that, maybe some writing across his forearm. A symbol on the side of his finger. Any kind of design runs through Ash’s mind while his back runs numb.

Black is simple and classy, it’s why Ash chose this colour. Nothing else fit him right. He does well at staying still, but his soul continues to buzz with the gun working down his spine. He just closes his eyes, counting to ten. It’ll be over on ten one of these times – he used to do this as a child, waiting out a man on top of him until ten would hit, and they were done. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One, two , three, four, five – they’re almost done, they just said – seven, nine, no, seven, eight, nine, ten. Ten. Ten. Ten. _Ten._

When the door closes to their apartment, Eiji’s carrying a small bag of groceries for dinner that night. He pulls Ash in for a hug to greet, kissing the tip of his temple and noticing how he winces in pain at their contact. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“My back is sore,” Ash replies. He isn’t wrong, The skin is super sensitive for the time being – it’s not so bad on those certain spots on his arms, it’s just the bony bits of his back that trail along to his shoulder that bring the pain. He wanted to wait to show this until everything was healed and taken care of.

Eiji just pets his head softly with a cooing kiss for sympathy, wishing well and moving onto dinner for the evening.

A few days later things don’t hurt anymore. He still waits until about the two week mark when he’s sure things will be fine, before finally he unbuttons his shirt for bed. He had been wearing pyjamas for the past month.

“I want to show you something,” Ash says as his fingers tremble through each button. The anxiety he’s feeling isn’t from fear – it’s excitement, bubbling with a hint of nervous. It’s the same kind of lighting glee a child feels when showing a parent a new picture for the fridge, the same kind of energy of doubt that maybe it was a bad idea.

Eiji sees a hint of black by one of Ash’s elbows, coming to a tip as if it’s reaching to point. He doesn’t know if it’s what he suddenly thinks it is, or if it’s something else entirely.

Ash takes a deep breath, before finally turning around.

The tattoo is large, spanning down his spine and down his arms, stopping just before his elbows and tailbone. Inked in black, only lightly shaded, are a pair of wings, just resting on his back. He holds his arms out, the wings suddenly moving outward – and suddenly, he’s a bird instead of a lynx.

Eiji stares, eyes wide and mouth agape, before he finally stands up from their bed, making his way over to trace his fingers along the skin. He outlines each individual feather with a ghost’s touch, igniting Ash’s skin with goosebumps the same way flowers begin to bud from the ground in springtime. Eiji marvels, he wonders, he sighs.

He turns Ash around, cradling him now by his cheeks. “It looks amazing.”

The next morning Ash finds a note on his bedside drawer.

**_You always called me your Little Bird. Now, you can fly with me._ **

He could fly. He was relieved.

 

**_SMILE! :)_ **

****

This one Ash keeps on the mirror as a reminder. They both have the day off this afternoon, so Eiji decided that he wanted to take them somewhere special. It’s a summer specialty, so Eiji wants to make sure to experience it with Ash at least once.

While they drive, they take the time to talk more. About each other, about their lives, about who they grew up with and what certain customs mean. It takes about a solid two minutes into the last topic of that conversation to end in tears of pure laughter.

“Okay, listen, I really have to know this one. It bothers the hell out of me,” Eiji prefaces.

“Okay,” Ash chuckles.

“When two Americans are talking to each other, they say, ‘let’s go get coffee sometime.’ Which is fine and cool,” Eiji doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he most certainly wants to see Ash’s face for this one. One hand is doing the talking with him while the other is resting on eleven. “But, after that, they _never speak to each other again_.”

Eiji says this with such desperation and confusion in his voice Ash is roaring with laughter in the passenger seat.

“ _Why_ do they do this?” Eiji emphasises each word carefully, the confusion just as genuine and desperate in this question. “You ask a Japanese person to get coffee and they start trying to figure out when works best for you. You ask an American person, they say sure, but then you just cut contact forever.”

Ash has never noticed this about Americans, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises that “let’s go get coffee sometime” culture is a legitimate thing with multiple meanings. It could be a polite way to dismiss someone, it could be an invitation to stay in touch, it could be a request for a date, or it could be literal. He had no idea that nobody else did this.

“In your defence, I don’t get it either,” Ash giggles, wiping a tear from his eye.

The car stops shortly after this conversation is wrapped up with comments on how ridiculous the custom truly is, and’s not until they hop out of the car when Ash looks around to see where he is.

It’s a sunflower field, billowing and blooming bright and wild for miles and miles away. He doesn’t know the significance of this place, but he immediately comments on how it’s pretty.

“You’re prettier with them,” Eiji comments, pulling out his camera. “Go on,” he gestures now, grinning at the boy whose hair matches the flowers surrounding him. He holds his camera out. He only wants to look at him, he’s only ever staring at him. He won’t ever take his eyes off him. “Smile.”

Aslan smiles, beaming and brighter than the sunflowers, than the light, than the dawn.

 

**_They say a picture is worth a thousand words but I think of a million every time I look at you._ **

****

Some days are better than others. It’s how recovery goes. Some days are worse, and some days are better in only some aspects, while other minor details plummet to an all-time low. Ash was fine, most of the day, until he catches a glimpse of his reflection.

Perhaps someone referred to him as beautiful in the marketplace today. Perhaps someone gave him a longing look as he passed by. Perhaps it was nothing at all. It doesn’t change the fact that now Ash sees himself in the mirror and thinks about all the times he had to use himself and his beauty. Not just for sex, either, but for murder. Information. Secrets.

He was dangerous, even with his scars.

Just look at his eyes, they reek of every sin he’s ever committed. Every seducing lie he’s ever told, every sound he’s had to make. These eyes, these damned angel eyes are the very thing that got him into so much trouble.

He never asked for this damn body. He never asked for these terrible, terrible eyes. It was cursed upon him, night after night of being burned with the mark of _beautiful._ Ash can only look in the mirror now with tainted vision, and every time he sees, he wishes he were ugly.

 

**_Good morning, my favourite person! Breakfast is in the microwave, it should still be warm. :)_ **

****

Most of the time Ash and Eiji get to spend together is during the evening and onwards. Journalism, for the most part, is a 9-5 kind of job, so Eiji’s normally gone in the morning and is home in the evening. Then again, there are some nights with Ash’s job to where Eiji doesn’t have Ash to look forward to when he gets home.

Being a detective calls for some wild hours and time periods where Ash is working. Despite this for the most part, they spend their dinners together, their bedtimes, and whenever they’re incredibly comfortable, curled up in each other’s arms.

One would think that Ash would be so incredibly clingy when it comes to holding onto Eiji, but it’s rather the opposite. For the longest time, Ash was convinced Eiji had ulterior motives, just like everyone else had – then he would immediately hate himself for thinking such a thing. He had to train himself out of that thought process, but he still hates cuddling.

But then there are some nights, only some nights, where Ash doesn’t seem to mind. He welcomes it, as a matter of fact, allowing Eiji to curl his fingers around his face and caress his cheek with his thumb. He lets Eiji kiss his forehead, squeeze his shoulder, whisper in love. Ash just closes his eyes through these actions and through these words, rewiring his brain to show himself that Eiji would never touch him in any way other than this.

Ash learns, during these nights, that safety is the closest form of heaven he get.

 

**_Holding you in my arms is my favourite thing in the world._ **

****

Ash remembers once in Cape Cod overhearing on a radio about a girl wanting to sell her mattress she had with her ex. She talked about how it was causing her so much anxiety and he never understood how that would be a problem. It’s just a damn mattress, woman, it’s not that deep.

But then he found himself pinned down to a mattress, crying and gagging and unable to scream as a monster took his will of life away. Again. And again. And again.

It’s to the point now where Ash can pinpoint a particular spot in the mattress where he can sleep, since everywhere else only reminds him of where he was pinned. It wasn’t uncommon for him to sleep on couches or on the floor in New York because of some nights being so bad the last thing he wanted was a bed.

He feels ridiculous, especially when Eiji complies without question.

He decides he’s tired of it. He decides he’s going to flip the mattress over and work on it all one location at a time. Eiji complies without question again with impeccable patience. It’s not until Ash finds himself laughing, leaning his head back with his eyes closed and relishing himself in the kisses Eiji leaves on his neck and chest.

They stop in the middle and flip the mattress, refitting the sheets before continuing where they were.

It doesn’t seem so bad anymore if it’s with someone he loves like this.

 

**_I’m always so honoured that you can trust me. That you can let me in. I will always be there for you._ **

****

Eiji notices Ash’s pattern of behaviour having a pattern of improvement, but it’s not perfect nor is it perfectly consistent. Some days, he’s doing better. Some days, he carries a smile that can’t beat any other.

But then there’s other days. Days like these, where Eiji overhears him in the bathroom, crying his eyes out while he thinks no one can hear.

Eiji stands outside this door some of these days, listening to the boy’s crying and knowing that he’s to blame for making Ash suffer like this. It’s punishment, listening to these tears, but then there are other times during these kind of days, like today, where he knocks. He opens the door, and Ash turns to face him, his body wrecked with sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “This is too hard, Eiji. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”

Ash hates himself. He absolutely hates himself. He was doing so good, but he has to go on ahead and screw this up and have yet another bump in his recovery. He just wants to be okay. He just wants to get better.

Eiji stares with the deepest look of regret and sadness in his eyes. He just walks to him with his arms outstretched and apologies mumbled to the sky.

It’s in moments like these where Eiji has no idea what to say in the moment. He has no idea what to even think. But it’s a few moments later down the line of events when he finds these words, plucking them from the sky and writing them on a yellow piece of posting paper. He sticks it to the mirror again, hoping that Ash’s mind will change.

For now he has to do his best, hope, and wait.

 

**_It’s going to be okay. You’re getting better. I’m so proud of you._ **

 

Ash has to leave in the afternoon one day before Eiji comes home for an investigation. He and his partner had gotten a lead in Kyoto, a man with a child – one reported missing and believed to be in danger a few months ago.

Yet, before he leaves, he decides to once, just once, retaliate one of those sappy post-it notes for Eiji. It’s a simple one, but it holds a heavy meaning.

 

**_I love you._ **


End file.
